RomanoXReader: Till Death Do Us Part
by MadWorks
Summary: Till death do us part-that was challenging.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING:** I don't swear and Romano does so…

A warm gust of wind from the Mediterranean waves sailed into an open window of a villa. The pastel curtains quietly flapped at its entrance upon the dark room dimly lit by the pale crescent moon. Faint sniffles left a (h/c)-haired female's lips as it resonated through the lone room, shattering the notes of the sea's lullaby. (Name)'s fingernails dug deeper into the cushion of her absent husband, whilst she dismissed sleep—it never came anyway. After having fought with Romano hours beforehand, she found no comfortable position without the incensed Italian by her side.

Downstairs, the sleep deprived woman could hear pots clinking, the oven ringing at the time limit, and the occasional scraping of spoon against a dish. Romano must be cooking dinner for himself.

Earlier, (Name) troubled over what she and her husband should eat for supper. This time, she avoided pizza and tomatoes for her tongue had been jaded by her husband's favorites. Romano agreed that anything she'd want would suffice. However, his (e/c) eyed wife had been craving something lately, it created famished growls in her stomach, the very thought of it made her mouth water—baked potatoes. Oh, how she wanted to bite into that tender, soft mass with the butter and cheese melting on her yearning taste buds and-

"Are you a' kidding me, ragazza? No." snapped Romano, strongly opposing the idea.

And by strongly opposed, he vigorously expressed his strong distaste by extravagant angry gestures that supported his foul mouth and horrid words. (Name) remembered that her partner had this inexplicable hatred for the innocent vegetable. Smiling, the girl opened her mouth to substitute her suggestion and maybe secretly satisfy her cravings by going out to by some. The words never left her mouth though for Romano grumbled on and on, his deep voice rising at every octave, swearing at the right time. His wife was shocked and hurt, Romano promised her when he proposed to her that he would never swear and here he was, cussing all because of a vegetable. Extremely displeased at this unruly, childlike behavior and not being able to speak at his constant cut offs; (Name) began arguing back.

It commenced on his rant for his intense hate for the vegetable while she snapped, declaring on how her husband should give way to her taste for once even though he disliked it. He irately explained that potatoes bitterly reminded him of the 'potato-eater' who dated (Name) during junior high while she screamed that it was just _one date _before her lover even confessed and that he was just being bitter at the moment. He accused her that she was unsatisfied with him and she probably wanted to ask Ludwig to bake potatoes for her while she furiously yelled that he was being childish and it was not even _necessary _to go to the German for them.

(Name) lost track of the transitions of the heated argument. All she knew was that Romano was still disputing her while she fumed up to their shared bedroom and ended the night with her tossing a blanket then slamming the door to his red, enraged face. She took out another comforter and decided to sleep early without dinner for the couple.

Just because of a stupid fight over potatoes.

The thought of the vegetable once again grated (Name)'s insides with desire. Stupid Romano, he was just too much at times. Her (h/c) tresses obscured her sight and she made no effort to brush them away as she clutched her husband's pillow tighter, the smell of washed-out cologne drifting through her nostrils. This wasn't the first time they fought though, they had countless more fights before this one and the Italian's wife could undoubtedly say that the majority of them started with a simple subject or completely didn't make sense. The chestnut haired man made a big deal out of everything and it irritated his lover to no end and of course, till death do them part.

The sound of the knob untwisting penetrated her ears and (Name) swiftly bolted from the covers, bringing them to her chest. Her dilated pupils trained on the small ray of light seeping through the partially opened door. A slender finger reached through the door, flicking the light switch. The sudden flooding of light into the dark room caused her (e/c) to squint before her retinas had adjusted to the Italian standing beside her.

"Uhm…bella? I made a' some dinner." Romano informed, nervously holding a tray in his palm.

His wife narrowed her swollen eyes at him and the Italian shifted hesitantly towards her as if she was a wild beast ready to lunge at her unsuspecting prey.

(Name)'s eyes glanced to what he held in tray—baked potatoes. Her expression changed to one of surprise as her husband sat on their shared bed, dipping at the weight before offering the meal he hated but his wife craved for so much.

"Romano…" she whispered taking the tray in her hands. The buttery smell wafting through her nostrils just as she always dreamed.

"Eh…I a' hope you like it."

His cheeks were flaring; he can't believe he stuttered—(Name) had the ability to do that. Romano stared apprehensively while she blankly stared at the meal he cooked. Guilt itched in his chest when he observed her worn out features, her swollen eyes and the scar of a scowl. His heart ached knowing that he was the reason for the evident tears on the stained pillow.

The smile he longed for spread across her tired face and he quirked a miniscule smile at this. He loved to see his wife like this.

"Roma…thank you." She carefully set the tray down onto the desk beside their bed.

"I'm a'…I'mA'SorryForBeingSelfish." He blurted out quickly, before turning away, and (Name) knew how much he hated to apologize. His lean back clad in a sleeveless undershirt met her view whilst he crossed his arms, tensing at what she had to say. She chuckled wrapping her arms from behind him, interlocking her wrists together. A strangled yelp left the highly strung man's lips.

"Oh, Roma," (Name) sighed into his shoulder, "I love you."

The man turned around and swathed his bare arms onto her smaller frame. Taking a whiff at the vanilla scent of her (h/c) hair, he tenderly kissed her temple, "I a' love you too. Hurry up and eat those cursed potatoes, it's making me sick."

His wife giggled then proceeded to feast on the baked potatoes her husband ironically knew how to cook.

Romano sighed, well, he's done it for her; simply, because he would do anything for her.


	2. Sequel

A lightly tanned arm searched for the covers whilst its owner was still caught in the realms of dreams. Calloused fingers ghosted over plush sheets only to find that their treasure was not there. Romano's olive eye pried open, not finding what he was searching for, he swiftly sat him up. His wife was not there beside him, sound asleep or curled up to his side.

Oh, right.

She _didn't _sleep next to him last night…

…for a month and ahalf.

A deep sigh of frustration swept from his chapped lips and his head hung low. Again, they had fought. Again, it made no sense. It commenced from a simple comment on a sappy TV dating game.

"_She shouldn't choose that blonde dude; he's an egotist…too much pride."_

"_No way! Not him! He complains too much!"_

"_Ugh…did you hear that? 'So, I thought it was best to take her where __**I**__ prefer_…' " _(Name) mimicked, continuing dramatically "I mean, he's already known her for like three weeks! Shouldn't he know what environment or what she wants? He should have been gentlemanly enough to take her to where she wanted! Selfish! Just selfish!" _

_Romano frowned beside her, ignoring the TV show he had not been paying attention to the whole time._

"_Are you a' referring to me? 'Cause it sure sounds a' like it."_

_His wife whipped her attention to him, surprise present in her features, "Wh-what? No, no, I-"_

_In response, the Italian scoffed, plucking his hand from her back, rising before walking out of the living room into the kitchen. The woman rose from her perch, following after Romano._

_She found his back turned towards her as he fiddled with the utensils, completely ignoring her when he walked right in front of her to the refrigerator. He must be preparing so food though they had just eaten lunch._

"_Hey, please don't be mad…I-"_

_Again, just like always, she was cut off –he scoffed sarcastically. (Name) blink, she was fed up with being cut-off. Aggravated, chipped nails dug into tender palms._

"_Excuse me?"_

_The dark haired man looked at her over his shoulder. It contained the most utter contempt. Although (Name) did not intend her comments for her husband, she had come to realize they actually did fit the man. She decided to abide in his assumption._

"_Maybe what I was saying __**is **__for __**you**__!" _

_Thus began another fight void of sense. Fiery words shot back and forth across the spice scented kitchen. Glares hardened by each second. Fists drew blood from quivering palms. Faces flared and jaws locked as grumbles rose to screams piercing the peaceful, afternoon air. Mind frenzy from the increasing tension, heedless words rolling from deceitful tongue, Romano interjected something he did not mean, something he wished he could go back in time and never even scoff at his wife in the first place,_

"_You know what, ragazza? I a' wished I never even a' met you in the first place! You're a pain in the ass! I guess love is really a' blind eh? 'Cause the last thing I'd a' want to see is you!" _

_Silence._

_Painful, silence filled the room and Romano knew he's done it. His grounded pearl whites unclenched, and his tight scowl unfurled. (Name)'s (e/c) eyes were dripping with tears, staring at him stunned and rejected. Her lower lip trembled as it moved up and down as though she was stuttering words that would never reach a human's eardrums. There was a familiar ache spreading on his chest and his stomach twisted, causing his spine to slump forward. His heart had a lot to say, he wanted to take back what he said for he never really even meant it. However, just like every being, the mind failed to correspond with the heart. He didn't say anything. _

_He stepped forward. She took a step back, wincing like he was about to slap her, hit her, abuse her. She knew, nevertheless, that the physical pain was nothing compared to the pain his tormenting, sharp words spat at her like she was garbage, like she wasn't worth anything._

That horrible distress hung-over him again, completely ruining his day. After that, they decided to split and stop living with each other for a year, considering things before getting the most disastrous entity and tragedy between couples—divorce. During the time being, they would not acknowledge each other as husband and wife, they would not call or text, and no nothing between them for a year and by their wedding anniversary, which is still next year, they will decide whether they were good on their own then process papers for divorce.

Romano _could not_ believe he agreed to it but he kept his pride in independence. However, during the whole month, he always woke up like this: His arm would search (Name) in the covers, he'd realize she wasn't there, he'd panic as to where she had gone then he'd remember that dreadful deal therefore destroying his day. From there he'd be grumpier than the usual.

Normal couples in such a state would twist off their wedding rings, put down all pictures of them, or delete the saved sappy texts they received from each other. Romano could not. He kept the silver band on his finger. Kept the 'Be home in time for dinner. I love you 3' text messages. Kept their photos in his gallery (though he took one down from his phone wallpaper), and his phone and email address were still the same password: (Name) VARGAS backwards, keeping Vargas on caps lock.

During his times of affliction, he needed her. But now, he just nodded to keep the reminders of her present in order to stay alive though it was slowly killing him that the real (Name) was not here.

"Roma~!" a voice sang from downstairs. The Italian grumbled while familiar footsteps creaks the wooden staircase.

"Oh, you're awake!" Antonio entered, a cousin he was currently living with in Spain while (Name) was back in Italy, in that house they dreamt of standing by the sea. He regretted the distance.

"Oh, no, as you can a' see I'm a' sound asleep and this is just me a' talking in my wonderful journey inside dreamland." Romano grumbled.

The Spaniard, was mildly surprised and pleased that Romano's time with (Name) rubbed off his bad habit of swearing as though it were a comma—Antonio just hoped that the habit would not return while he prayed that the two would make up.

The Spanish man clad in pajamas and apron stepped in front of him, chocolate eyebrows raised. Emerald clashed with hazel orbs and there was a stare down. Tanned hands made a grab at the Italian's shoulders,

"Roma! Wake up! You're talking in your sleep! Wakeee uuuuppp~ !"

Cue facepalm. The Vargas male could never understand how a grown man can_not _have sarcasm in his vocabulary.

~Timeskip

Romano knew he was proud but (Name) understood because she knew that the man was just insecure. Having her by him, diminished his insecurity, but reality says: she is not here. He didn't want it anymore. It was a miracle that someone would accept and most of all love him, the proud and selfish. He wanted that miracle.

Hands shaking and sweaty, he dialed the number to their house. Pursing his lips, he waited as the signature rings resounded repetitively to his ear. His heart pounded hard against his poor ribs that would crack and break according to the metaphorical dictionary. Sweat slid from his hairline and it seemed hours before he hear the sound of the phone being lifted,

"Hello?" a male voice answered.

Fury shot through Romano's veins. First of all, he was wasting a minute to speak with a guy whose voice was awfully familiar. Second, what would a man be doing in _their_ house? Jealousy and anger reigned his senses and that, dear friend, is a disastrous combination.

"I need to a' speak with (Name)."

"Romano? She's in the kitchen right n-"

"_Now_."

The brunette Italian did not bother to ask the man's name or how he knew his name. He'd deal with that later. Right now, he wanted to speak with (Name) and tell her he missed her, he needed her, and how badly he wanted this dreadful deal to end.

"Hello?"

The wild flapping of butterfly wings beat against his stomach, he missed that angel's voice.

"(Name)…"

"Romano? What do you want? We had a-"

"Si it's me and yes, we a' had a deal," he interrupted, "I-I just wanted to a' …know how you were a' doing…bella."

There was a pause and it made Romano even more nervous.

"Okay, I guess."

The Italian immediately knew she was not okay,

"I'm s-sorry…bella. I a' want to end this deal already. I a' do not want a divorce. What I a' said before, I did not a' mean it," Romano inhaled, "I know you a' have given me a lot of chances but…please give me one more? I a' need you, (Name). It's been a' more than a month and I can't a' do it. I won't a' cut you off anymore when you a' speak and I know I a' said this before but…I a' promise to be better. Please forgive me, (Name)."

Again, that terrible pause.

Rapid breathings were exchanged through the telephone and he waited.

"R-Romano," (Name) choked and the Italian's heart rate increased, if that were possible,

"_I'm pregnant."_

Pregnant. The word haunted through his hazed mind and he felt salty tears ready to merge. Pregnant? Who was the father? Was she with a man during his absence? The thought tormented him but he knew he deserved it. Was it the man on the phone awhile back? Did he take advantage of his distance and absence? It enraged him and the phone was under the mercy of clenching hands of frustration.

"H-how long?"

"Four and a half weeks."

A strangled whimper left his gritted jaws. Why did she seem so flat? Or was it just the phone? His imagination? It was his fault. He hurt and humiliated her when she deserved none of it. If he hadn't done that then they would be together, happy.

Pregnant. Three weeks. Why did it have to be the love of his life? Pregnant and who knew who the father was! Romano was frustrated, angry—tormented. None of the horrible adjectives in the dictionary could explain how he felt. Still, all those dreadful feelings weren't directed towards his wife—it was directed to him.

"I-I di-…the p-papa...(Name) I hope he treats you better than I d-did and I'm a' sorry for the pain I've c-caused you-"

"Romano, plea-"

"-I'm s-sorry for a' wasting your time. Tell, 'him' to take a' good care of the bambino if he a' doesn't then I'l-"

"Romano! I don't want to hear it right now! Could you just shut up and listen?"

The man remained silent though he did not want to hear her outright reject his apology.

"Good. What on earth are you talking about? 'The papa I hope he treats you better than I did'? You got that right, Romano!" she said and it tore the Italian apart to know that she did find someone better,

" 'Cause you better keep your promise of being better, this is _your child_!"

The telephone fell. Fortunately on the carpet and Romano's eyes expanded. Relief, happiness, shock, no one can name the pleasant emotions overwhelming the man. He could no longer feel the extreme beating of his heart. So after all, the father was him. Romano was going to be a father! It was cardiac arrest. The fallen phone called for him and he picked it up with quivering hands.

"Romano? "

"B-bella…I-I-…do you f-forgive me?" he asked though he was on the shock that electrified his veins.

"Of course, Roma." He could hear her smile and it felt so nice to again be called that dreaded nickname he loathed until of course, his wife called him that.

"I'm going to be a papa…" he muttered, not being able to take in the events today.

"Yes, you are." (Name) giggled. Tears once again slid through Romano's flush cheeks as a light laugh escaped from his chapped lips, like sun's rays bursting through the gray clouds and such was this moment.

"Is it a bella or bello?"

"Idiot. He or she is still weeks old, how are we suppose to know?"

A wrist rubbed through his flowing eyes, as he continued chuckling, his wife laughing along with him.

"(Name)?"

"Yes?"

"_Ti amo."_

And so it was, till death do them part.

Extended ending:

"I love you too."

"And (Name)?"

"Yeah?"

"Who was the idiota who picked up the phone?"

"…how could you not recognize my brother."


End file.
